Aloha
by SimplyMe514
Summary: A simple mistake in the pronunciation of a spell puts eleven-year-old Gregory Goyle in a rather embarrassing situation... oh, Merlin, his House mates are never going to let him live that down!


There was a great deal of excited whispering among the Slytherin first years as they made their way to the Charms classroom that chilly October morning. Most of them would never had admitted it, but they were really looking forward to knowing what Professor Flitwick had meant with his promise (a very funny, squeaky-sounding one, but still a promise) of a brand new spell to learn.

A certain Draco Malfoy was, of course, leading the way, flanked by the ever-present Crabbe and Goyle, whom all the other first years had come to fear. After all, they were considerably bigger than average, and their House mates just so happened to have a very strong... survival instinct, for lack of a better word. But let it never be said that they were cowards! Courage was, by definition, a Gryffindor thing, but it was common knowledge (in the green-and-silver Common Room, at least) that Slytherins were by far the best of the lot. Look at Draco, for example – a simple snap of his pale fingers and he got what he wanted, and if he didn't, then his Daddy would get it for him. Even Professor Snape seemed to like him, and he usually disliked pretty much any living being that walked the corridors of Hogwarts.

Being the leader of the group, he was also the first one to come across a slightly alarming problem:

"Hey! It won't open!" Try as he might, the imposing wooden door that stood between them and the Charms classroom wouldn't budge. They all took turns trying, but no one could open it. Though sly and sneaky by nature, none of them was trained in the fine art of lock-picking, either – it was such a Muggle thing to do!

They were all devising ways to tell Professor Flitwick that it wasn't their fault if they'd arrived late _en masse_, when the tiny teacher showed up right behind them. After fighting his way to the head of the group and turning to face the class, he cleared his throat (though in a much less solemn way than he thought) and announced: "Before you say anything, the door is _meant_ to be locked today, as we will be learning a nifty little charm that is designed specifically to open locks."

A general murmur of understanding followed; he let it die down and then proceeded to explain every step very, very clearly, with his usual emphasis on pronunciation, lest someone got one of the many vowels wrong and wreaked disaster.

He demonstrated the charm, opening the door effortlessly with a little click, then locked it again and made a great show of putting the key back in his pocket. "So? Who would like to go first?"

Quite surprisingly, no hands went up. No one in the class was particularly eager to learn – not as much as that Granger girl, at least – but the Slytherins usually fought tooth and nail for a chance to outshine the others, please the teacher or a combination of the two. Perhaps they were afraid of making complete and utter fools of themselves in front of everyone.

Professor Flitwick surveyed the students, deciding to resort to the dear old method of picking someone at random.

"Mr Goyle, if you please." He gestured to the door and Goyle obediently stepped up, wand at the ready, staring at it with the none-too-witty expression that never seemed to leave his features. Blimey, was it his eyes or had it suddenly become bigger and more menacing?

Okay, what was it again? The professor had done it not a minute before, it couldn't be that hard... Face scrunched up in concentration, he pointed his wand at the lock and said it: "_Alohamora_!"

And something happened... but not quite what he had expected. Instead of clicking open, it shone for a brief instant as if white-hot, then a bunch of colourful things – flowers, he realised in embarrassment – burst out of it, forming a sweet-smelling chain around his neck. And it wasn't done producing all sorts of plants: after the flowers came the leaves. They were strange, elongated, exotic-looking, of a kind he had only seen in that book he had received a few birthdays before, _Wizards of the World_, in the section about Hawaii. That was when his relatives still had a tiny bit of hope that by showering him with books, they would make him like them. He'd only read it because it had a lot of pictures in it. He tried to run, but to no avail: the leaves had also taken on a life of their own and really wanted to form a skirt around his waist. Oh, Merlin, the other boys would never let him forget this...

And to top it all off, just as the two halves of a coconut obstinately attached themselves to his chest and he felt, to his even greater horror, that his proper clothes were all gone, his own body stopped answering. His deepest wish was to run away, but a foreign-sounding music had started filling the air and his limbs had apparently decided to dance to it, swinging and swaying in a terribly girly way. He could feel his face burning with shame as his classmates and, worse yet, even some random passers-by, all older than him, laughed hysterically, not bothering to be polite as they openly pointed at his so-called memorable performance.

Still perfectly calm, Professor Flitwick commented: "See what happens when you get a vowel wrong? Let this be a lesson for everyone: it's _Alohomora_, with an O."

**Author's Notes:** what can I say? I've seen that mistake countless times on this site and it bothered me, so I decided to play on the similarity between the misspelled word and the Hawaiian greeting "Aloha". To any readers from Hawaii: I openly admit that I know nothing about your traditions and I know full well that my description is a huge collection of stereotypes, but it's meant to be a humorous story, not an essay. I didn't mean to make fun of anyone but the writers who don't even bother to check the books if they're not sure how to spell a word.


End file.
